


Good & Ugly

by sheskindahoran



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, College, College Student Peter Parker, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Deserves Better, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Roommate Skip Westcott, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Underage Drinking, Whump, freshman, tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 12:31:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20064064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheskindahoran/pseuds/sheskindahoran
Summary: In August, Peter moves into his new dorm room.In September, his life goes to shit.





	Good & Ugly

**Author's Note:**

> come hang on tumblr with me @ironspyderr

“You must be Peter,” the boy says, pushing back his chair and standing up. He’s got a halo of floaty, blond hair illuminated by the morning sun and a smile that stretches for miles. “I’m Skip. It’s good to finally meet you.”

Peter sets down his box of clothes by the entrance into their hallway to shake Skip’s hand. He smiles in response, allowing his concerns about rooming with a graduate student during his own first year of university to fall away. “You, too. Um, where should I put my stuff? There’s only another box or two.”

Skip laughs loudly. “Wow, man, you travel light. Your room is the last room on the left. Hope that’s cool.”

“Yeah, yeah, all good with me,” Peter plays off, pulling the box back up again onto his hip and heading down the hall.

This wasn’t how he’d imagined his first year at school—in NYC, students are often corralled into tiny dorms with another one (or three) more acne-riddled kids who haven’t learned about laundry yet. Peter, however, got lucky. Instead, he’s got his own room in the suite-style dorm of a Calvin Klein-caliber guy who could probably plan and execute a four-course meal all by himself. He supposes it’s not so bad that they over-enrolled this year anymore (and that he was the odd man out).

“I’ll run down and help you bring up the rest!” Skip shouts from their living area. Peter hears him walk out as he sets the box down on the cheap, blue mattress. It’s little more than a cover over some bed springs, but he’s got a mattress pad and can make do. He’s never been much of a complainer.

May comes in a minute or so later, his filled laundry basket on her hip, as Peter sets away the clothes he’d decided to bring. She plops down in the chair at his desk for a moment to catch her breath.

“I just met your roommate,” she says after a moment, her lips turning up into a knowing smile. “Nice boy.”

“May, c’mon. We’re roommates. And besides, I’m not going to drop that bomb on him just yet,” Peter responds, redness creeping up the back of his neck.

“You never know,” she says in sing-song, beginning to unfold the linens in Peter’s laundry basket. “The Ashfords roomed together in school.”

“They didn’t have a 5 year age gap.”

May simply hums and turns away, pulling Peter’s duvet over his new sheets. Skip comes in with another box, sets it down by Peter, and exits to grab the remaining miscellaneous stuff. “Maybe you should let him put away your undies,” May says, smiling devilishly and bracing her shoulder as Peter throws a random shirt at her head.

“May!” Peter yips, ready to pull out his hair. His ears are hot, his chest is hot, this room is hot—God, _when_ did it get so goddamn _hot_ in here? 

It’s mostly silent after that and Peter cools down. Skip helps May organize the stuff in and around Peter’s desk as Peter finishes putting away his clothes and hanging up things on the walls. About two hours after arriving, he walks May back to her car.

He opens the driver’s door for her. When he turns around, May has tears in her eyes.

“Hey,” he starts, letting go of the door and reaching for her, wrapping his aunt in a bone-crushing hug, “I’m just across the way. I can be home before the phone even stops ringing.”

“I know,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “I’m just proud of you. I’m so proud.”

He breathes in the floral scent of her hair and sighs softly. “I love you, May.”

A few minutes later, after Peter has waved another goodbye, he makes his way into his new living room.

“How does lunch sound?” Skip asks from his seat on the couch. “Unpacking always makes me hungry.” Peter’s stomach grumbles his response, and Skip grins. “C’mon.”

They make their way to the nearest dining hall and Skip demonstrates how to use the campus keycards. After they each look around and fill up their trays, Peter locates an empty table by the soda fountain where they both sit.

“So,” Peter starts after they’ve each taken a bite of their respective sandwiches, “why did you decide to live on campus this year? I mean, you’re in your 20s; why would you want to stick around a bunch of teenagers who’ve just been granted their freedom?” He laughs before continuing, “Do you _like_ torture?”

Skip breathes out his own laugh. “No, I just—it’s nice being closer to class. I like being around people. Besides, tuition’s cheaper if you’re an Advisor.”

“Oh, okay. Cool. Sorry, uh, sorry you had to get stuck with me. I know that single rooms are usually part of the appeal of being an RA.”

Skip freezes mid-chew. He forces himself to swallow before responding, “Hey, that’s not your fault. I’m happy to be living in one of the suites. And I already told you: I like being with people.” He takes a sip of his water. “Really, don’t mention it. I haven’t thought twice.”

Peter nods and finishes off the first half of his sandwich. He’s starving, and the dissipation of his nerves from the last 48 hours isn’t helping. He scarfs it all down in just a moment.

“Big man’s gotta eat, huh?”

“Ha, yeah…” Peter says, red on his neck. “Like a wolf, my aunt says.”

“Well, looks like it’s done you well,” Skip says. Peter pauses, looking up at the 20-something-year-old across from him, but Skip isn’t meeting his eyes. Instead, he’s looking over Peter’s arms and the shirt that they’re bulging out of.

Peter doesn’t know how to respond, so he just says, “Oh, thanks.” Skip smiles with one side of his face, and then he launches into a monologue about his own freshman year. Peter pretends to listen, but he can’t shake off the anxiety brewing on the back of his neck and behind his ears.

And, despite the suffocating heat of a closing city summer, he feels chills in his spine.


End file.
